


Mourning

by CursedGay



Series: Midnight City Writing [4]
Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Problem Sleuth (mentioned), timeline 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 02:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CursedGay/pseuds/CursedGay
Summary: PI is called down to a crime scene to identify a body.





	Mourning

MCPD outer investigative officer best known as Pickle Inspector had been called up when a body was discovered in an out of the way alley by some unfortunate couple trying to find privacy late at night.

He was asked to come take a look at the corpse and see if he could help identify it and find any clues as to who may have been responsible.  
He'd been getting a few of these calls near weekly for the past few months, it was rather alarming that another one would happen so close to the holidays. Couldn't crime wait until after New Year's?

Nonetheless, Pickle made his way down to the scene, bundled up with a recording pen in one hand and a to go cup of Earl Grey in the other. He was tired, and trying not to let the seasonal moodswings cause him to isolate. Maybe he should ring up Sleuth and ask to meet up in person, they hadn't been able to in forever... and seeing the walking sunbeam of a man would do his own morale some good too.

When he got to the scene, he had to push past reporters and policemen forcing them all back like they were rabid dogs. PI ducked his head down and wormed his way through to the officers near the body.

"Inspector, good to see you outside."

"Mhm... tell me wh..what you've g-got so far." The cold was making his teeth chatter, and his tired eyes ogled expectantly at the deputy holding a notepad. He clicked his pen on.

"Male, middle aged, seems to have bled out as cause of death rather than from the...numerous blows to the skull. We can't identify him."

PI glanced over the notes and then... he looked towards the body.

"Did you check th....the pockets......"  
He trailed off, and he felt his stomach drop and his heart leap into his throat simultaneously.

The pen and the cup fell as he rushed towards the corpse and took a closer look at it.  
The face was recognizable and he figured the officers were idiots to not have immediately know _that face._

_That. Face._

Skull bashed to bits, repeatedly, blood soaked, a hole in his chest in the _perfect_ spot for bloody lungs and agonizing death. Pickle stumbled away as he stared for too long, grabbing the side of a filthy dumpster and throwing up bile and tea and stomach acid. He dry heaved until he could finally get control of himself enough to walk back to the corpse.

"That's- that's Sleuth. That's Problem Sleuth." Pickle's voice sounded far away from himself as he croaked out the name, and forced himself to blink away tears. He knew he'd felt something was wrong. Good GPI what _happened..._

He had a pretty decent guess about who did it, but... he had no definitive proof except a gut feeling and a hunch. He stared at the body for a bit longer, telling the officers to bring it back to the labs.

PI felt the least he could do at this point was fix Sleuth up a little and give him a proper, legit burial. Beloved by the city and by his friends. He couldn't just disappear silently. Inspector wouldn't allow it.

Pickle Inspector fixed his old sun bleached scarf over his face and inhaled the scent of rotten desert. He felt something inside him drain away. He felt numb, in pain, unaware. Distant from himself now. 

The man he had died and killed for, protected, cherished, saw as something akin to a brother, he was gone just like that.   
Sleuth had been in his life not for long but had changed it drastically forever, and Pickle wasn't ready for another sudden change.

He picked up his pen and turned it off, he picked up his cup and looked it over for dents or a spill, and he was content with finding none. Pickle Inspector bid the officers farewell and headed out of the alleyway, ignoring the hounds of the press, and trudging his way on to his office.

The world felt as empty as his insides.


End file.
